


Frag the Police

by pipermca



Series: Sparkr Stories [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Hook-Up, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Police Misconduct, M/M, Roleplay, Sticky, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, dating app
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 00:04:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11955531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipermca/pseuds/pipermca
Summary: Jazz uses a dating app to find some mech to hook up with, but he's also open for something more. However, he's not really prepared when his date turns out to be a cop... And a blazingly hot one at that.





	1. Hook Up

Jazz sipped at his drink as he relaxed at the bar. It had been a pretty good night; his newest song had been well-received by the audience, and there hadn’t been any fights in the crowd as the bar closed. He opened his comm pad and selected an app.

“Well well, look who’s trawling around on Sparkr.” Jazz looked up and smiled as Blaster sat down next to him with his own after-hours drink. “Looking for someone to warm your berth again tonight?” he asked.

Jazz grinned and shoved at Blaster playfully. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m just lookin’,” he said. He scrolled past some of the profiles he’d seen before, looking for anything new. “Besides, I’ve met some really nice mechs on here.”

“Don’t tell me you’re using a hookup app to find a sparkmate.”

“It’s a dating app,” said Jazz, a little defensively. “You can use it to look for whatever you want.”

“And what is Jazz looking for?” Blaster said, craning his helm to see the screen of Jazz’s comm pad.

Jazz tilted the screen towards Blaster. “Just... someone who looks interestin’, that’s all.” He scrolled up again. “Like, look at this one. Iaconian, nice optics, works in retail, enjoys long walks on the skyway.”

“He is kinda pretty. I know you had a thing going with that noble a few vorns ago, and – hey!” Blaster exclaimed as Jazz swiped left to dismiss the mech’s profile picture. “I thought he looked nice.”

“Yeah, well, he was nice-lookin’, but he also sounded boring as slag. ‘Long walks on the skyway’... Booooring.” Jazz skimmed through a few more profiles and swiped left to dismiss all of them. “All of these – dull and done.”

Blaster laughed. “You’re more discriminating than I thought you were,” he said. He narrowed his optics at his friend for a moment. “So what **are** you looking for? Hookup or sparkmate?”

Jazz shrugged. “Both. Neither. Does it matter? I’m just looking for someone who’s good-lookin’, and fun, and who might be fun in the berth. If anything more comes outta that - bonus.” 

Blaster finished his drink and clapped a hand on Jazz’s shoulder. “Well, good hunting, Jazz,” he said. “I gotta get going. See you tomorrow night?”

“You bet,” said Jazz. “Have a good one, Blaster.”

Jazz hesitated over the profile of an Altihexian who worked as a mechanic. In his profile picture, the mech was posing dramatically in front of a transport train, showing off his physique. Jazz shook his helm, laughing quietly, and swiped left. He was sure that some mechs just had no idea how ridiculous their profile photos made them seem.

The next profile made him pause. He looked like he might be a Praxian, based on the chevron visible in the close-up photo of the mech’s face with its chiselled features. That was different; most mechs at least took the pic far enough away to include their upper torso. This looked more like an identification card photo. If it was a Praxian, Jazz wished that the mech had included his door wings; Jazz had a shameless **thing** for Praxian door wings. The mech’s icy blue optics stared back at Jazz from his comm pad. His profile was as austere as his profile photo: he worked for the city, and enjoyed music and strategy games.

Jazz’s digit hesitated over his pad, and then he swiped right. _Why not?_ he thought. This mech’s profile (the app said he went by the designation Prowl) was different; his stood out from the parade of mechs trying to make themselves look amazing. If anything, this mech almost seemed to be downplaying whatever he had to offer.

A moment later, his comm pad chimed. _It’s a match!_ the app cheerfully displayed on the screen.

Jazz’s visor brightened. Apparently Prowl had thought Jazz looked interesting as well. Jazz opened the messaging tab and tapped in his standard message for when he matched with someone.

_Hey Prowl, tell me what your idea of a perfect date is. Mine is drinks, conversation, and maybe a little more._

He closed down the app and stood up, suddenly aware of how late it had gotten. He slid his empty cube across the bar to the bartender, who was still cleaning up from the evening. “Thanks, Airstream,” he called, wishing the mech a good night.

***

Over the next few days, Prowl and Jazz chatted back and forth on the app. Prowl’s idea of a perfect date was similar to what Jazz had listed, although Prowl did add, _That description was generic enough that almost anything would qualify._

 _Why do think I lead with that? That way, I can’t be accused of misleading anyone in case it doesn’t work out_ , Jazz replied.

 _Clever_ , was all Prowl said.

Getting Prowl to give up more information about himself was like straightening twisted cables. Jazz was relieved when Prowl finally offered a time, date and place for them to meet for the promised “drinks, conversation, and maybe more.” 

The bar Prowl picked for their meetup was a bit of a drive for Jazz, but he didn’t mind. It was in a nicer area of town than where he lived, so he didn’t feel uneasy wandering around looking a bit lost. However, with Prowl’s directions he was able to find the bar without any trouble, and ended up arriving a bit early.

As soon as Jazz walked into the bar, though, he felt a little nervous. The clientele was more upscale than he was used to at the bars where he played: business mechs and a handful of nobles. And in one corner of the bar, a large table was filled with Enforcer mechs. All of them looked up at him when he walked in.

Trying to seem casual, Jazz ordered a glass of mid-grade, and took a seat at an empty table near the door. He scanned the bar, stealing glances at the Enforcers out of the corner of his visor. None of them looked familiar, but that didn’t mean that one (or more) of them hadn’t been an officer who’d given him a hassle in the past.

As the kliks passed, Jazz became more and more convinced that maybe this had been a bad idea. This just wasn’t his crowd. All he needed now was for one of the Enforcers to decide that he looked out of place, and decide to haul him outside for a closer look. Maybe he could finish his drink, duck out, and send an apology to Prowl. 

“Is your designation Jazz?”

Startled, Jazz looked up, and his spark sank when he saw an Enforcer standing over his table: painted the classic black and white with the Iacon Enforcer emblems on his shoulders. _Frag._ Jazz swallowed the mouthful he’d just taken from his glass and nodded, trying not to appear nervous. “Yes, it is. What’s the problem, officer?” 

“I am Prowl.” The Enforcer held out his hand.

Jazz peeled his optics away from the Enforcer insignia and refocused on the mech’s face. Prowl. Of course. The mech was even more good-looking in person than he was on his profile. In fact, Prowl was drop-dead gorgeous. Jazz’s hunch had been right: Prowl **was** a Praxian, and Jazz gaped for a moment at the magnificent door wings standing proudly out from the mech’s back. 

Recovering himself quickly, Jazz laughed. He tried to rein in his relief that he wasn’t on the verge of being tossed out of the bar on his aft. “Prowl. Right. Hiya.” He held out his own hand and gripped Prowl’s, then gestured at the seat across from him. “Please, sit down.” 

“Thank you.” Prowl gracefully folded himself into the chair, and nodded at the waiter who stopped by a moment later. “The usual, please.”

“Ah, so, I take it ya come here a lot?” Jazz asked, still trying to calm himself. Thankful for his visor, he still tried to keep his optics from drifting to the mech’s wings. 

“We are very close to my precinct office,” Prowl replied. He inclined his helm towards the other Enforcer mechs in the corner table. “This establishment is rather popular with other officers as well.”

Jazz laughed slightly. “Yeah, I noticed them when I came in.” He glanced at Prowl’s Enforcer insignia again. “Ya didn’t mention that you’re an Enforcer.”

Prowl inclined his helm. “My apologies. Would that have changed your decision to meet me?”

 _Yes_ , thought Jazz, although now that he’d seen Prowl in person he had to admit that it would have been a bad decision to reject him based solely on his occupation. “No,” he said. “It’s just a... bit of a shock when a cop walks up to your table and already knows your name.” 

Prowl thanked the waiter, who’d brought him his drink. He looked at Jazz evenly. “A guilty conscience, perhaps?” he said.

 _Great._ Jazz did have a record, but he wasn’t about to admit all of the sordid details to Prowl right after meeting him. “Oh, you know,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Speeding. Busking without a permit. All the usual stuff that dumb young mechs get into.”

“You are not that young,” replied Prowl.

“Nah, most of my run-ins with the law were vorn ago,” Jazz said. That, at least, was true. He’d cleaned up his act significantly, although the sad truth was that any mech who lived on his side of the city had fairly regular contact with Enforcers, just because of where they lived, where they worked, and who their friends were. 

“Busking,” said Prowl thoughtfully, switching the subject. “Do you still do that?”

Relieved to discuss something other than what he’d gotten into trouble for in the past, Jazz shook his helm. “Naw. I’ve got a steady gig now in a club on the north end of town.”

Over the next few groons, their conversation wandered from Jazz’s musical career, to music in general, to concerts that Prowl had attended recently, to a few amusing anecdotes from Prowl’s work. He’d done crowd control duty for some popular artists that had visited the city, and he got to meet some of the musicians personally. “They’re never like what you expect,” Prowl said. “For example, one of the nicest artists I’ve ever met was Claxon – you know, the lead singer of that noise band Pandemonium – that toured here four deca-cycles ago?”

“You got to meet Claxon?” Jazz practically bounced in his seat. “I love Pandemonium! I have all of their albums!” He finished his drink and slammed it back down onto the table a little harder than he meant to. “I am so jealous of you right now I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Prowl laughed and finished his drink as well. “Like I said, he was quite nice. I didn’t expect an artist whose music consists solely of screams and sirens to be such a pleasant person to be around.”

“Hey now, it’s not all just screams and sirens,” said Jazz. “That’s just their biggest hit.”

“If you say so.” Prowl tapped his digits on his glass thoughtfully, and Jazz saw him glance towards the table of other Enforcers. “Jazz, we discussed drinks, which we’ve accomplished, and conversation, which has been excellent. Would you be interested in... something more to close out the evening?”

Jazz smiled. “What exactly did you have in mind?” he asked. Prowl was really good-looking, intelligent, had a dry wit, and seemed pretty nice on top of everything. Besides... Jazz smiled to himself. Blaster would never believe that Jazz had fragged a cop. 

Prowl extended a hand across the table, palm up. “Would you like to go back to my place? It’s not far from here.”

 _Score._ “I thought you’d never ask.” Jazz put his hand in Prowl’s.

Smiling, Prowl stood up from the table, pulling Jazz with him. He cleared their bill, paying for Jazz’s drinks as well. As they turned to go, Jazz noticed that Prowl stole another look at the table of Enforcers before they walked out into the cool night air.

“So, Prowl,” Jazz said, walking beside the Praxian. Primus, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on those door wings. “You kept looking at that table of cops in the corner. Friends of yours?”

“Coworkers,” said Prowl flatly. He glanced down at Jazz – slag, he was way taller than he’d looked when sitting! – and added, "Actually, they are fellow officers in my detachment.”

“Worried that they might make trouble for ya, meetin’ a strange mech at a bar?” Jazz said teasingly, bumping into Prowl’s side.

Prowl didn’t respond for a moment, so Jazz looked back up at him, worried that he’d said something wrong. Finally, Prowl said, “I will be perfectly honest with you, since you are coming back to my place, and likely to my berth.” 

Jazz felt a bit of disquiet. After all, he had not been perfectly honest with Prowl regarding his record. However, before he could say anything, the Enforcer continued. “My fellow officers have taken it upon themselves to have more than a passing interest in my love life.” Prowl glanced down at Jazz again, then back up to watch where he was walking. “If I do not demonstrate that I have had some kind of... relations within the past few vorn, they begin teasing me, relentlessly.”

“Well, that’s slag,” said Jazz, feeling indignant on Prowl’s behalf. “It’s none of their business who you’re fragging.”

Prowl’s door wings twitched; Jazz was not sure if it was in embarrassment or amusement. “Yes. Quite. That doesn’t stop them from taking an interest.” Prowl shrugged. “So, when the enquiries and teasing become too intense, I reactivate my profile on Sparkr to find someone to speak to for the evening. I invite them to that bar, so that I can be seen with my date, and – more importantly – I can be seen **leaving** with my date. After that, the teasing stops for a few vorn until they figure out that I am still unattached.”

Jazz laughed. “That’s actually a little brilliant. So – uh – do you always invite these dates back to your place?”

Prowl stopped walking and put a hand on Jazz’s shoulder. “No, and that’s why I am even bothering to tell you this.” He waited until Jazz was looking up at him before continuing. “Normally, I invite my date to a diner down the street where we can finish up our conversation, and then I bid them good night. But as far as my coworkers know, I participated in a socially-acceptable amount of fragging that evening. You,” Prowl added, putting a digit under Jazz’s chin and tilting it up slightly. “You are the first mech I’ve taken home in over three hundred vorn.”

Even though he still felt guilty about not telling Prowl everything about his record, Jazz couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face plates, and he laughed again. “You sure know how to make a mech feel special, Prowl.”

“I enjoyed our conversation. You are quick-witted, you have a good sense of humour, and you can hold up your end of an intelligent conversation. Plus,” Prowl said, smoothing a thumb across Jazz’s lips, “you are delicious to look at.” His vocaliser dropped to a husky whisper. “Do you taste as good as you look?”

Jazz froze as Prowl tipped his helm up again and pressed his lips to Jazz’s. Prowl tasted like the high-grade he’d been drinking. Jazz parted his lips slightly, and Prowl took that as an invitation to slide his glossa into Jazz’s mouth to dance with his. 

It was one of the best kisses that Jazz had had in ages. He leaned into Prowl, bringing his hands around Prowl’s back to rest gently on the backs of Prowl’s door wings. The Praxian bit gently into Jazz’s lip at the soft touch, and Jazz heard a very quiet whimper escape Prowl’s vocalizer.

After a few kliks they parted, and Jazz released the air he’d been holding in a long exvent. He realized that both of their fans were venting steam into the cool air around them. “So, uh, how far away did you say your place was?” Jazz said with a grin.

It turned out to not be far at all, and by the time Prowl let them into his apartment their hands were roving all over each other. Digits pressed into seams and plucked at the tense wires underneath, and lips smeared across neck cords and up jaw lines. 

Prowl kicked the door shut behind them, and murmured “Berth?” into Jazz’s mouth.

“Yes,” gasped Jazz, clutching at Prowl’s shoulders. He squeaked as the larger Praxian picked him up in his arms and marched him into the next room, unceremoniously depositing him onto a large berth and climbing in after him.

Prowl kissed his way down Jazz’s frame, lavishing attention on the seams on his chest plates, the black armor of his abdomen, and then the heated metal just above his interface array. Jazz gritted his dentae and tried to keep himself under control. How embarrassing would it be to have his interface array fly open the instant Prowl touched it?

Thankfully, Prowl stopped there, and Jazz lifted his helm to look down at Prowl. The Praxian’s ice blue optics stared back at him, and Jazz could see those fantastic door wings waving gently just beyond. “What is your preference, Jazz?” Prowl asked, planting a kiss on the inside of Jazz’s thigh. Slag, everything the mech did increased Jazz’s core temperature. “Spike or valve?”

Jazz almost laughed, but managed to not sob _I don’t care, just frag me already!_ “Either one,” he said, trying but failing to keep his vocalizer steady. “Either one would be wonderful.”

Prowl smiled, and nuzzled the panel covering Jazz’s interface array. This time, Jazz could not stop it from opening, and he moaned as he felt his spike pressurizing as soon as the cover was clear. He leaned back on the berth again, covering his visor with an arm and biting his lip.

“Either one,” murmured Prowl, pressing his lips against the lips of Jazz’s valve. Jazz gasped as Prowl’s glossa dipped between his folds, which were already swollen and damp from the anticipation that had built as they had made their way back to Prowl’s apartment. The fluttering touches skimmed around the rim of his valve before Prowl traced meaningless glyphs over and through his wet folds.

When Prowl lifted his helm slightly to gently mouth the base of Jazz’s spike, Jazz moaned incoherently. Prowl flicked Jazz’s anterior node with the tip of his glossa, and Jazz bucked up against Prowl’s mouth, clamping his knees around Prowl’s helm. “Primus, Prowl!” Jazz huffed. 

In response, Prowl redoubled his efforts, and Jazz felt his charge rising. _Slag, does this ever feel good_ , he thought. He cried out softly as Prowl flicked his node again, and he arched his back, trying to push himself against Prowl’s mouth. He was sure that if Prowl did that one more time, Jazz would tip over into an overload. “Prowl, I think...” The rest of his thought vaporized into incoherency as the Praxian raked his digits down Jazz’s inner thighs.

Suddenly, the warmth between his thighs shifted, and Prowl began licking and nibbling his way back up Jazz’s frame. As soon as Jazz could reach Prowl’s wings, he pressed his hands onto their surface, delighting in the shudders his touch sent through them. 

Prowl hummed at the light strokes of Jazz’s digits, and he nipped gently at Jazz’s chin. “You are so expressive,” he whispered. “I love that.”

“I aim to please,” Jazz said with a smile, drawing his digits up the bottom edge of the wings again. He parted his thighs as Prowl shifted over him, waiting impatiently for Prowl’s spike. 

So Jazz made a questioning noise when Prowl continued to slide his frame upwards, and Prowl nudged Jazz’s thighs closer together. Jazz felt Prowl’s spike slide against his valve, and then felt an incredible heat as Prowl’s valve slid up along Jazz’s spike, pressing it between Prowl’s valve and Jazz’s pelvis. Finally, Jazz groaned in happy disbelief as Prowl slowly slid back down onto Jazz’s spike, enveloping it bit by bit in wet, welcoming warmth.

“Oh, frag me,” moaned Jazz, putting a hand on one of Prowl’s hips, and wrapping his other hand around Prowl’s spike, jutting up between them proudly. _Slag, he has an amazing spike, too_ , Jazz thought. _I must be dreaming. This is all too good._

Prowl lifted his hips once before sliding back down onto Jazz’s spike again. “I believe that’s what I am doing,” he said with an amused glint in his optics. Although Prowl’s vocalizer was steady, Jazz noted that the Enforcer’s fans were running at full.

Lifting himself off of Jazz’s spike again, Prowl dragged his digits down the racer’s chest. Jazz rolled his hips up, meeting Prowl’s as he slid back down. Looking up at the Praxian, Jazz shivered at the sight of this gorgeous mech riding his spike. Prowl tilted his helm back, and Jazz couldn’t help reaching up to run both of his hands over the surfaces of those beautiful door wings that were spread wide over him. 

“This is... amazing,” gasped Jazz, trying to get his words out when he could. Every time that Prowl sunk down on his spike, the mech’s internal calipers rippled, gripping Jazz’s spike in an otherworldly sensation. Jazz found that in those moments his vocaliser simply wouldn’t work. “You are... so... fragging hot... Prowl!” The Praxian’s designation erupted from Jazz in a burst of static. 

It was as if that is what Prowl needed to hear. The Praxian threw his helm back again, his engine roaring as his frame convulsed, his valve gripping Jazz’s spike tightly as he overloaded. Jazz groaned as the rippling sensation pushed him over the edge. The look on Prowl’s gorgeous features and the trembling white door wings hanging above him sent him into a delirious overload, spurting fluid deep into Prowl’s valve.

Jazz came back to his senses to feel Prowl kissing him gently, his valve still gripping Jazz’s spike in the last tremors of his overload. Onlining his visor, Jazz smiled up at Prowl and kissed him back. “That was... you were... fantastic,” Jazz sighed.

Prowl shifted, sliding off of Jazz’s spike and settled in next to Jazz. He gathered Jazz’s frame against his, curling around Jazz and tangling their legs together. “No one has ever said that to me,” Prowl said quietly, nuzzling Jazz’s helm.

“What, that you were fantastic?” asked Jazz.

“No, that I’m hot,” Prowl said. Jazz pulled his helm back to look at Prowl, who had a half smile on his lips. “I suppose... it might come from being dedicated to my work, and not having very many close friends or lovers.” He ran his hand down Jazz’s side to his hip, pulling him in closer. “I’ve been called lots of things, like severe and haughty and... cold...” He laughed at the inadvertent pun. “But never hot.”

“But...but just look at you!” Jazz sputtered, waving a hand across Prowl’s frame, taking in his face and his shoulders and door wings and hips. “How could all this not be hot? And when you add in how you use your equipment...” Jazz’s engine gave a rev. “Mech, if you take in the whole package, you are slagging irresistible.”

Prowl flushed slightly and laughed, kissing Jazz again. “Thank you,” he said. He nestled his head next to Jazz’s. “You are welcome to spend the night, if you wish. My next shift does not start until later tomorrow afternoon.”

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” said Jazz, yawning. “It’s a long drive back home.” He brushed a hand up the one door wing of Prowl’s that he could touch, smiling as it shivered. “But do we need to recharge so soon?” he asked in a low voice.

“Not necessarily,” said Prowl, running a hand up Jazz’s frame to his chest. “What did you have in mind?”


	2. Arresting Development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

In the morning, Jazz woke to find Prowl already gone from the berth. Visions of the previous evening cascaded through his memory files, and he stretched languorously as the images stirred a warm glow in his frame. Finally, he sat up, climbed down from the berth, and wandered out into the main living area.

Jazz hadn’t gotten a good look at Prowl’s apartment when they came in the previous night, since he had been slightly preoccupied with trying to climb inside Prowl’s frame. It was a smallish place that was sparsely furnished, but it had nice large windows. 

Prowl was standing in the galley kitchen, preparing some energon. “Good morning,” he said, drawing a second cube. He held it out to Jazz. “Did you recharge well?”

“After we finally got into recharge, yes, I did,” Jazz replied, taking the cube gratefully. He took a sip, smiling as he remembered the proper worshipping he had lavished on Prowl’s door wings. “And how about you? I hope I didn’t kick or thrash any.”

“If you did, I didn’t notice,” said Prowl, returning Jazz’s smile. “It has been a while since I shared my berth to recharge, but I remember what was so appealing about it. And as for the interfacing... You were an excellent partner.” He put down his cube and gave Jazz a level look. “I would be interested in seeing you again.”

Jazz grinned. “I’d be interested in seeing you again, too. You are great to talk to, and good looking, and a great frag.”

Prowl laughed softly. “I’m glad you think so. I feel the same about you.” Shaking his helm, he added wryly, “Plus, it’ll confound my coworkers if I end up seeing someone regularly.”

Jazz felt a sudden pang as he remembered the half-truths he’d told Prowl the night before. “Hey, listen, Prowl,” he said, setting down his cube and rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t entirely truthful with you last night. You know, when you asked if I had a guilty conscience.”

Prowl’s expression became serious, and his door wings lowered slightly. “I wasn’t intending to pry.”

“No, look,” Jazz said quickly, waving his hand as he tried to explain. “I just didn’t tell you everything that I’ve been in trouble for. I like you... I **really** like you, and I’d like to get to know you even better, and... I don’t want you to get into trouble at work for dating someone who’s... like me.”

“Do you have an outstanding warrant, or some other pending issue with the courts?” Prowl asked, obviously trying to understand Jazz’s concern.

“No! It’s just... I’ve been stopped for more than just speeding. It’s all still on my record. If anyone looked up my record, just out of curiosity...”

“That would be unethical.” Prowl paused, then admitted, “Which isn’t to say that it wouldn’t happen.”

Jazz exvented and leaned back against the counter. “Anyway, I have a few convictions for street racing. Four, in fact. Spent a deca-cycle in jail for the most recent one, and got my licence to drive on the highways revoked for almost a full vorn.” With trepidation, Jazz looked at Prowl and the dark expression forming on his face plates. “I’m still on probation for that last one.”

Prowl’s lips pressed into a straight line, and his door wings flipped backwards aggressively. He radiated disapproval, and Jazz’s spark sank. “Street racing is illegal for a reason,” he said, his volume rising. “It is extremely dangerous.”

“I know, I know,” said Jazz, bowing his helm. _Primus damn it all, I’ve gone and fragged it all up,_ he thought. “The judge kept reminding me of that.”

Prowl stepped closer to Jazz and placed his hand on his arm. “Please tell me you don’t street race any more,” he said. His voice had gone quiet. Jazz lifted his helm and saw Prowl looking down at him, concern the only emotion he could read in his optics. “I have cleaned up the results of far too many accidents in my career, and have seen mechs’ lives changed forever because of a stupid decision they made.”

“Naw, mech, I haven’t raced on the streets since… Well, since my last arrest for it,” Jazz replied, keeping his visor trained on Prowl’s face. _Please, please believe me. I'm tellin' the truth,_ he thought. “The class that the judge sent me to set me straight. Now if I feel the need for speed, I go to a track. All nice and legal. And safe. Well, safer.”

Prowl nodded. Jazz’s spark lifted to see the Enforcer’s optics brighten. “Good,” said Prowl, removing his hand from Jazz’s arm. “I do not want to see anything happen to you.”

 _One confession down, one to go,_ Jazz thought. “There’s more,” he said, his tank doing flip flops. “I’ve been hauled in a few times for drug possession.” He exvented again. “It was a while ago, too, but I know that’s really a big deal, and –“

“Hauled in?” repeated Prowl. He tilted his helm. “Were you charged?”

“No, I guess not. They usually kept me overnight, and let me go in the morning,” Jazz said. “But they said that the detention would be on my record.”

“What did they stop you for?” asked Prowl, frowning.

Confused, Jazz said, “Well... nothing? I got stopped, usually later at night, and they asked for identification and searched me. That’s always when they found the stuff,” he said. 

Prowl’s door wings flared again, and his optics flashed brightly. “Let me make sure I have this correct. You were walking down the street in your neighbourhood, and an Enforcer stopped you for no reason other than to check your identification and search you? And when they discovered you had drugs in your possession, they took you to impound overnight and – let me guess – confiscated your drugs?”

Jazz watched Prowl carefully as he talked. This was not really the reaction he’d been expecting. “Well... yeah. That happens a lot in my neighbourhood.”

“Are you aware that what was done to you is illegal?” asked Prowl, his voice dropping to a growl. “Enforcers cannot simply stop mechs in the street and search them, unless there is an active investigation going on in the area.”

Now Jazz laughed. “Have ya ever been to the north end of the city, mech? There’s always an ‘active investigation’ going on.” He waved a hand. “All they have to say is that some mech was found in a puddle on his own energon down the street, since it happens all the time there, and they’re looking for a mech meeting your description. Identification, please? You sure do look like the mech we’re lookin’ for. Say, do you have anything in your compartments? Mind if we take a look? Oh, look what we found, you’re comin’ with us.” Jazz snapped his mouth shut, suddenly aware that he was ranting about the actions of some Enforcers to another Enforcer... Like that had ever gotten him anywhere.

But Prowl was shaking his helm. “There is so much wrong with the scenario as you’ve laid it out for me that I don’t even know where to start,” he said. He stepped close to Jazz again, placing his hand on Jazz’s shoulder. “My guess is there’s a reason you were never charged: the grounds they used to stop and search you were not legal. It was done primarily as intimidation. And –“ Prowl ground his dentae together. “They likely kept the drugs they confiscated for themselves.” 

“Joke’s on them. I never had any of the really good stuff,” Jazz said, trying to lighten Prowl’s mood.

Scowling, Prowl said, “I’ve heard of things like this happening, but I’ve never spoken to anyone who’d experienced it firsthand.” He drew a digit up Jazz’s chin, and his expression softened. “Promise me that if this happens to you again that you will comm me immediately. I will ensure that you are treated fairly and legally.”

“Sure thing, Prowl.” Jazz stared up at Prowl’s intense blue optics that were boring holes through his visor, and he realized his frame was really beginning to heat up at Prowl’s proximity. “And what if they pulled me over for a perfectly legitimate reason?”

Prowl’s lips finally quirked into a smile. “I thought you didn’t do ‘stuff like that’ anymore.”

Jazz shrugged, tilting his helm so that Prowl’s digit traced up his jaw. “Well, you know how it is. Stuff happens.” He kissed Prowl’s digit as it wandered across his cheek to his lips. “Would you at least make sure that I’m searched correctly?”

At this, Prowl’s engine revved loudly, and his optics narrowed. He placed his hands on Jazz’s waist and pushed him gently back against the counter, and Jazz caught the sound of Prowl’s fans clicking on. “Are you sure? Being searched correctly also means being searched **very** thoroughly.” He brushed his lips against Jazz’s forehelm. “I could give you a demonstration if you’d like.”

“Yeah,” murmured Jazz. He pressed his face into the hollow under Prowl’s chin and inhaled deeply. He smelled like wax and night air. “I think I’d like that.”

Suddenly, Prowl pulled away from Jazz and held him at arm’s length. His door wings were spread wide, and he commanded an air of respect just in the set of his shoulders and the look on his face plates. “Citizen Jazz,” Prowl said, his voice strong and even. “You are under arrest. To ensure your safety and mine, I must search your frame for weapons or contraband items.” Prowl slid his digits along Jazz’s sides, seeking out the compartments and pockets that all frames had. He lowered his voice slightly and added, “Is there any compartment you do not want me to search?”

Jazz did a quick mental inventory of the items he was carrying, and shook his helm. Prowl opened the compartments on his frame, pulling out a handful of shanix, a transport pass, a stylus, a cloth he used to wipe his visor clean, and his comm pad. “Nothing incriminating there.” Prowl stacked the items neatly on the counter next to Jazz. “Sometimes, we have reason to believe that a mech is hiding something in an intimate location,” he said, sliding his hand down to palm Jazz’s interface cover. “In those cases, we do a cavity search.” He traced a digit along the seams of Jazz’s panel, and whispered into his audials, “We don’t always do it on the side of the road, but sometimes it can’t be helped.”

Prowl’s smile widened as Jazz’s cover snapped back with a loud click. “I always appreciate a compliant suspect,” he murmured. Never removing his optics from Jazz’s visor, Prowl slid a digit into Jazz’s valve. “Of course, I usually need lubricant to perform this type of search.” He slid his digit out and back into Jazz’s valve, making a sloppily wet noise. He bend his neck to rest his forehelm against Jazz’s. “I can see that is not needed for you.”

Jazz whimpered.

A second digit joined the first in his valve, and Prowl scissored them apart, gently stretching Jazz’s valve. He pushed them as deep as he could, twisting them around. Jazz gulped air through his vents as the fingers brushed roughly over the nodes deep inside his valve. 

Prowl’s frame pushed Jazz against the edge of the counter as he stretched his arm, and his helm drifted sideways so that his mouth was beside Jazz’s audials. There, the Enforcer whispered, “No contraband found. Thank you for your cooperation, Citizen Jazz.”

Jazz whined quietly as the digits withdrew from his valve, but his engine stuttered when he saw Prowl brings his wet digits to his mouth and lick them clean. The Praxian smiled at Jazz around the fingers in his mouth before withdrawing them with a popping noise. “A point of order,” Prowl said, taking Jazz’s hips in hand again. “Searches like that are normally only done once a mech has been placed under arrest, and they have had their rights explained to them.” 

“Does that mean you just violated my rights, officer?” Jazz asked coyly.

Prowl laughed slightly. “It would appear so,” he said, and pressed his lips to Jazz’s firmly. Jazz opened his mouth, and Prowl’s glossa dove in to chase his. Jazz tasted his own lubricant, and he groaned against Prowl’s mouth. Then he gasped as Prowl pulled away suddenly. “I could just arrest you now, and no one would know that I did things in the wrong order... unless you complained,” Prowl said. 

Jazz’s fans spun higher as looked up at Prowl and returned his smile. “Then maybe you should arrest me, officer.”

Prowl placed a hand on Jazz’s shoulder and gave him a quick kiss on his nose. Suddenly, Jazz squealed as the room spun, and he found himself facing the counter. Prowl shoved him up against the counter. “Hands behind your back, please, Citizen.”

Jazz put his hands behind his back, and felt Prowl grab his wrists in one large, strong hand. The Enforcer leaned forward and said, “I don’t have any cuffs on me right now, since I’m not at work... I hope that’s all right.” Jazz nodded quickly, and another whimper escaped his vocaliser when he felt the digits of Prowl’s other hand tracing the lips of his valve again. “Good,” Prowl murmured into his audial, and Jazz heard the unmistakable sound of Prowl’s interface panel retracting.

Prowl’s pede slid between Jazz’s, and nudged his pedes wider apart on the floor of the kitchen. Jazz felt Prowl’s knee press against the backs of his thighs, urging his legs even farther apart, and Jazz had to lean harder on the counter to maintain his balance. 

“Citizen Jazz,” Prowl purred. Jazz groaned as he felt Prowl’s hardened spike slip along his valve, skimming the surface tantalizingly. “You are under arrest for... for being too good in the berth.” Jazz giggled, and he felt Prowl nuzzle the base of his neck. “Hush you,” Prowl murmured. “I’m trying to improvise.”

“Sorry, officer,” Jazz said, biting off another laugh. He wriggled his hips, trying to get Prowl’s spike to slide into his valve, instead of just teasing along his outer folds. 

Prowl’s grip on his wrists tightened, and his other arm wrapped around Jazz’s waist, lifting his hips slightly. Jazz sighed as he finally felt Prowl push into him. His engine rumbled softly as the Enforcer’s spike slipped past the nodes near the entrance of his valve, and his valve reacted by gripping the intruder. 

Prowl’s voice was still strong, but Jazz could hear the effort it was taking for the Praxian to keep his tone steady. “You have the right to remain silent,” he said, slowly pushing his hips forward until he was seated fully in Jazz’s valve. 

“Hnnngh,” Jazz replied as Prowl pulled himself out again, then slid back into Jazz.

“Any noises you make can and will be used against you in order to give you an overload,” Prowl growled. He rolled his hips against Jazz’s aft, and Jazz’s engine sputtered.

Prowl’s spike was perfect. Abso-fraggin-loutly perfect. Jazz rested his heated helm against the cool surface of the kitchen counter as Prowl drove into him again. Jazz felt his own pressurized spike bumping against the front of the counter with each thrust of Prowl’s hips.

Jazz moaned deliriously. It was ridiculous how turned on this was making him. Images flashed through his mind of him bent over the hood of an Enforcer transport, with a cop – no, Prowl, specifically – sunk deep into his valve, pounding away, right there on the side of the road where anyone could see. Turning his head as far as he could, he peered through the side of his visor so he could watch one of those magnificent door wings waggle over him with each of Prowl’s thrusts. He shuddered and groaned into the counter again. 

“You have the right to an overload.” Prowl’s strokes picked up speed. He had let go of Jazz’s hands, instead grabbing the racer’s hips for more leverage. Jazz used his freed hands to brace himself against the counter. “An over –” The Enforcer gasped as Jazz’s valve convulsed on his spike. “An overload will be provided to you, one way...” Prowl plunged firmly into Jazz’s valve again, eliciting a yelp from his partner. “Or another!” 

Prowl’s digits dug into Jazz’s hips as he began driving into Jazz, pulling the racer back against him as he pushed forward. Jazz whined and tipped to the front of his pedes, tilting his hips upwards as high as he could so that Prowl’s spike hit the cluster of nodes at the front of his valve. Two, three more hard thrusts, and Jazz sobbed something that might have been Prowl’s designation as his overload washed over him, his valve clenching down spasmodically on Prowl’s spike as he rode the wave of heat and pleasure.

A moment later, Jazz heard Prowl swear, and felt the Enforcer’s grip tighten even more as his spike spurted hot fluid into his valve. Jazz clawed at the counter, his own climax still pulsing through his frame. Prowl pumped his hips a few more times, long and slow to draw out his own overload. 

Prowl leaned heavily on Jazz’s back, crushing him against the counter for a moment before placing a hand on either side of Jazz’s chest and pushing himself upright again. He kissed the back of Jazz’s neck before slowly pulling his spike from Jazz’s valve. He turned the racer to face him and repeated the kiss, planting his lips on Jazz’s. Then, resting his chevron against Jazz’s helm crest, he looked into Jazz’s visor. “Do you understand your rights as I have explained them to you today?” he murmured, a grin playing on his face.

“Yes, sir,” Jazz replied, hugging Prowl’s frame to his. “And that was fragging amazing. You are amazing.” Jazz laughed, adding, “And if I ever get stopped by the cops again I will never be able to keep a straight face, because this is all I’m going to be thinking about.”

Prowl shook his helm, smiling. “I am afraid that performing an arrest in the way I just demonstrated would constitute a very serious ethical breach.”

Laughing, Jazz said, “I suppose so. Too bad.” He kissed Prowl again dreamily, trying to commit every detail of Prowl’s lips to his long-term memory. 

After several kliks, they pulled apart slightly. Jazz glanced down at his frame and grimaced. Lubricant and transfluid, wet and dry, was smeared along his thighs, and paint transfers decorated his hips and chest. He didn’t even want to know what his back and aft looked like after that last round. “Say, um...”

“You are welcome to use the wash rack,” Prowl said, his optics having followed Jazz’s gaze. “It’s through the berthroom.” His door wings flicked again; Jazz decided he needed to get better at reading them. “I’m afraid there’s only room for one mech at a time, otherwise I’d offer to help,” he said, smiling regretfully.

“That’s all right, Prowler,” Jazz said, taking a few steps in the direction Prowl had indicated. “I think we’d just end up getting distracted anyway.”

“Prowler?”

Jazz stopped short and turned back. “Err, sorry. Prowl. Are nicknames a no go?”

The Enforcer gazed at Jazz for a long moment before laughing. “No, it’s fine. I’ve just never had a nickname before.”

“Never? Never in your whole existence?” When Prowl shook his helm, Jazz stepped close to him again. He wrapped his arms around Prowl’s neck and pulled him down into a long, sensuous kiss. Stepping away before Prowl could fully recover, Jazz said, “Well, I guess it’s been a cycle of firsts for both of us.”

“Oh?” replied Prowl, a little dazed.

“Yeah. I’ve never fragged a cop before!” Jazz exclaimed before bouncing off to the wash rack again. 

***

“Great set tonight, Jazz,” Blaster said, settling down next to the white racer at the bar after closing. 

Jazz raised his glass to Blaster. “Thanks, mech. I’m really happy with how it went over.”

Blaster’s optics flicked towards Jazz’s comm pad. “No trawling around on Sparkr tonight?” he asked. “Hey, didn’t you have a date off there a few cycles ago? How did that go?”

Smiling into his drink, Jazz said, “It went **really** well.”

“Oh yeah? A good hookup or that ‘something more’ you were thinking about?” Blaster asked, nudging Jazz’s side.

“He was a great hookup.” Jazz stared off into the distance for a moment, savoring an image of Prowl and his glorious door wings spread out on the berth beneath him. “Best I’ve had in several vorn, in fact.”

“Really? And he was on Sparkr, and no one else had snapped him up?” Blaster’s tone was surprised. “I am jealous. Are you seeing him again?”

“Yup. Tomorrow.” Jazz finished his drink. “I’m actually hoping this could turn into something serious.”

Blaster looked dumbfounded. “I cannot believe you actually found someone on that dating app,” he said. He took a sip from his drink and frowned. “All I’ve been able to find are mechs that are desperate for a reason.”

“I think I got lucky,” Jazz said. “Really lucky.” He stood up to go. “Anyway, I’ll have to introduce you to him sometime.” Jazz stifled a smile, looking forward to the inevitable look of shock on Blaster’s faceplates when he realized that Jazz had hooked up with – and was now **dating** – a cop.

Blaster nodded. “Yeah, I want to meet this mech. I wanna find out what’s taken Jazz off the market,” he said.

Jazz shrugged and grinned. “I guess you just can’t fight the law of attraction.”

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies. I got a hankering to write a sticky story (well out of my comfort zone) and then I saw [this meme](https://68.media.tumblr.com/4db3950b936bf54958ed025bbd831683/tumblr_n4ic8wvvSW1tpejmro1_500.png) and then this story happened.


End file.
